


Heathens

by frooley



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anxiety and panic attacks, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sad with a Happy Ending, Theyre innocent, jail time, slight depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 22:31:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15180782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frooley/pseuds/frooley
Summary: Pete never expected to go to jail, ever. And he definitely didn't expect Patrick to, either.





	Heathens

**Author's Note:**

> hi, another story. uh, updates will be spotty, but ill try!
> 
> Idk why I keep making these.

Feet slapped hard against the concrete, heavy breathing filling the running boys' ears. Why did things always backfire, why did they get caught? It was Brendon and Gerard's fault, they started the fight and they were just by standers. He stopped after the flashing of lights ceased behind them, looking over at his friend.

Patrick's face was red and tears ran down his cheeks. Pete frowned deeply and pulled the shorter man in an embrace, he was shaking; they both were.

"Hey! Stay put, you're surrounded!" the voice was loud and caused the two to flinch, Patrick began to sob, muffling it in Pete's shirt.

Time was like an hourglass after that, Pete stared at the metal that was around his wrists and groaned. He's been arrested before, went to jail and it sucked; they were going to prison, though. That's much worse.

But Patrick, hes only been arrested once but it was small and he didn't go to jail, just sat in the police station until his father picked him up. Patrick, he was still crying, he was scared and Pete knew it, he was scared to.

"Follow me, we'll need to check you two in and then we will send you to your sleeping quarters." a police officer spoke, he was burly and bald, emotionless as he guided the two kids to the check in desk.

"State your full name, birth date, and place of origin." a woman, in her forties, spoke to them, a stern look in her eyes.

"Pete Lewis Kingston Wentz the third, June 5, 1979, Chicago." Pete spoke to her, nerves quaking his words.

They turned to Patrick, who was hiding slightly behind his friend, silently crying.

"Please, sir, state name, birth, and origin." the woman spoke a tad softer, Patrick finally looked at her and Pete noticed how she flinched.

"Patrick Martin Stumph, April 27, 1984, Chicago, m'am." he spoke, his nose was stuffed and his throat was raw.

"Okay, Pete Wentz and Patrick Stumph, you two are here under charges of battery, attempted murder of the 2nd degree, and public vandalism, do you understand the charges and that your court date for a chance to prove other wise is in 3 months, August 23?" Her voice was monotone and stern again, the boys nod.

"Anything else before we send you to your rooms?" Pete nods, coughing into his hand before speaking;

"Despite everything, I would like to request that Patrick and I get a shared room, together? I'm afraid for his safety."

The woman looks at the police officer who escorted them here, and nodded, Pete felt relief run through him. He knew Patrick could stand up for himself, but he knew that his tactics would be useless in a place like this.

Patrick immediately curled up on one of beds as soon as they got to the cell, not caring to cover himself as he began to cry again. Pete felt bad and wanted to comfort his friend but as soon as he tried, there was banging at the door and a shout of 'be quiet'. Patrick jumped, but his sobs eventually died. An occasional sniffle was all that filled the room and Pete did what he did best; he thought. Thought about where he'd be right now, most likely with Patrick, thought about how his parents were, and if they heard yet.

He didn't sleep that night, and neither did Patrick. He just _hated_ Gerard and Brendon.

______

The next day was, in least words, horrible.

Pete was immediately separated from Patrick, by force, and put outside to play basketball, or whatever else he decided.

He just sat the entire time, not caring for the sleazebags that tried to talk to him. He knew Patrick was probably going through worse, so he condemned himself.

"Yo! Everyone, fight!" a tall, slightly muscular kid called from the back entrance doors. Pete felt himself turn inside out.

He rushed, as fast as he could muster, to the scene and hated that his suspicions were correct. Patrick was only 17 for gods sake.

And there he was, on the cafeteria floor, holding his face in his hands as a burly guy, slightly taller than Pete, stood above him.

"C'mon, _ya_ pansy. This fight ain't over yet!" he chuckled, all throat and no tongue, before grabbing Patrick by the collar and lifting him off the ground. Patrick's hands fell from his face as he weakly pushed at the mans arms, and Pete saw what had already been done. Red and purple surrounded the redheads left eye and bottom lip, tears poured freely over his cheeks as well.

"Aw, why you cryin'? You want your mommy?" the guy mocked, snickering lowly. There was a whoop of noise at the comment and Pete knew he should step in before it became to much, but he couldn't. His feet refused to move as his brain fought with him.

"You got a pretty face for a guy, too bad I'm going to have to ruin it." the guy spoke with grime in his voice. "You got pretty lips, too, probably _enjoy_ getting-" " _Enough_! Put him down."

The words came out before Pete could think.

He just didn't want to hear what the man was going to say, so vulgar and typical.

"Who are you? His boyfriend?" the man turned to Pete, laughing before pushing Patrick into him. "Whatever, I was getting bored anyways. Hes pathetic, not going to last long in here."

Pete doesn't say anything, rather he controls the now sobbing Patrick in his arms. He frowns deeply, never in his life did he want to see Patrick like this, but hey, now or never, he supposes.

The crowd lessens as soon as the man leaves, leaving Pete and Patrick to be the only ones in the room. Patrick pulls away from him after a moment, wiping his face harshly before sighing.

"What happened?" Pete asked, he wasn't taking silence well, and needed some clarification.

"I was just- walking! And I bumped into him, and he thought I wanted to fight." Patrick told him, the rawness of his voice breaking Pete even more. "I just wanna go home. We didn't even do anything wrong, Pete."

"We have 3 months till our court date, so, we'll just have to hang on until then." Pete told him, grabbing his hands that were scratching mindlessly at his arm.

Patrick frowns, but nods and lets Pete toy with his hands. As much as hes going through, he couldn't imagine how Pete was feeling.

He lets himself he pulled and lead to one of the guards, who at the sight of them, grimaced.

"Is there a nurses office or something here? He needs an ice pack." Pete asks, watching the man eye him before looking at Patrick and pointing down the hall.

"Should be on your left, after 3 doors." he spoke lowly, gaze casted to the wall a head of him. "Try to not get yourself in anymore trouble."

They both nod before walking down the hall. _Quiet room... Black room?... Psych Quarents... Doctors Office!_

Pete knocked on the door lightly, but enough to draw attention. A man, tall and slim, stood before them.

"Hi, my friend here needs an ice pack-"

"I believe its more than that, come in." he states after looking at Patrick, he moves out of the way so the two could come in, and sits down in a chair.

"Names?"

"Peter Wentz, and this is Patrick Stump."

"Kid can't talk for himself? Pity." the man laughs, ugly and full of teeth. Pete frowns and sits Patrick down in one of the chairs before seating himself.

"Murder charges? You two don't look like tough guys." the doctor, or Pete hopes, says as he looks over their records. "You, maybe." he points to Pete, smiling before looking at Patrick. "You, though, you wouldn't hurt a fly, huh? Pretty little thing."

Pete feels himself recoil, anger busting his stomach and hands, causing him to shake. Patrick just stares on, nails raking over his arms again, drawing prickles of blood.

"Hmm, what is your relationship to each other?" the man stands, grabbing, finally, an ice pack from the fridge. "Dating? Is that why you're shaking with anger?" he digs his long fingers into the ice pack, nudging Pete. Patrick shakes his head, grabbing Pete's trembling hand.

"Just friends, he's just protective, I guess." Patrick mumbles, speaking for the first time in 5 minutes. Pete doesn't speak, rather grabbing both of Patrick's hands, rubbing and squeezing them.

"Mm, okay, what ever you say. Here's the ice pack, love." the man grins, handing the cold pack over and watching Pete practically lean over Patrick. They stand, Patrick spiting out a thank you before leaving.

The two just retreat to their 'room' for the rest of the day, and this time they did sleep, abit warily but sleep.


End file.
